


it shouldn't be like this

by erzi



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-03
Updated: 2014-09-03
Packaged: 2018-02-16 00:15:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2248806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erzi/pseuds/erzi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Thanks,” Oikawa says as they put the last of things away, and even though he's right there beside Iwaizumi, he sounds so far away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it shouldn't be like this

**Author's Note:**

> iwaoi week day 3: hurt/comfort

Iwaizumi is leaning against the door frame as he looks at him from a distance, mouth twisted to the side.

“I'm closing up,” he announces loudly over the thwacks of the volleyballs against Oikawa's palm and then again as they hit the floor. Oikawa whirls around, eyes wide. The last ball he'd thrown rolls to a stop.

“How long have you been there?” Oikawa asks, and he sounds so small.

“Long enough to know you should head home.” He walks toward the scattered array of volleyballs, gathers as many as he can. “Practice is important, but so is rest, stupid.” He returns them to the cart, notices the brief, forlorn glance Oikawa gives them. He smacks his head for that. “Go _home_ ,” he reiterates.

Oikawa, petulant, rubs his head. “Okay,” he mumbles, and Iwaizumi's eyebrows shoot up at how uncharacteristically obedient he's being. He moves to pick up the other balls almost sluggishly. Iwaizumi silently helps, his eyes flitting over to his friend every now and then, a question in the tip of his tongue that he knows is better off kept away. They take down the volleyball net next in quiet familiarity: cables released, cranks and chains disconnected, net neatly folded corner-to-corner. Their hands graze together at that and a jolt of electricity travels down Iwaizumi's skin.

“Thanks,” Oikawa says as they put the last of things away, and even though he's right there beside Iwaizumi, he sounds so far away.

Iwaizumi worriedly bites the inside of his lip. Does he voice his concern? It is Oikawa: his reaction could range from artificially sweet indifference to bitter and ungrounded grievances. For all the years they've been friends, sometimes Iwaizumi wonders if he knows him at all.

He decides to continue keeping it to himself. “No problem,” he says instead, “It's no problem.” What a lie; is that how easy it comes to Oikawa? Because of course it is a problem, with this shell of the glittery, ostentatious Oikawa ambling about like he's half-dead, and despite the words he wants to say, the inexplicable urge to hold him close, all that comes out of his mouth is ' _no problem_ '.

Oikawa picks up on Iwaizumi's concern, somehow. “I'm fine, Iwa-chan,” he says, and doesn't even try to accompany that with a fake smile.

“No,” Iwaizumi says, taking back Oikawa and himself by how serious his voice is, and by how his hand reaches out on its own and firmly grasps Oikawa's wrist, “You're not.” He can feel Oikawa's heartbeat as well as his own, their pulses beating quickly, erratically apart, but they slowly fall into sync as they stand there, avoiding meeting each other's eyes, a suffocating heaviness on their chests. Neither wants to be the first to speak, but both long to hear the other something, anything, to break this-

“Maybe so,” Oikawa says, allowing himself to taste how the words feel in his mouth instead of in his head. He gently takes Iwaizumi's hand off his wrist, moves to the corner of the gym to get his backpack. Iwaizumi remains there, dazed. Of course he'd known, but hearing someone as unabashedly confident as Oikawa admit a fault still managed to shatter that nagging perception Iwaizumi had of his seemingly perfect friend. _Stupid_.

Blood returns to his legs and he follows behind Oikawa without a thought. “Why?” he asks in a low voice, but he can take a guess. He does when Oikawa doesn’t answer, his voice drops even more. “Do you actually feel like you're not good enough?” He notices how the muscles in Oikawa's back tense.

Oikawa turns around slowly, painfully, and his face is twisted up into a sardonic grin and his eyes have a tearful sheen. “Iwa-chan,” he says, and his voice breaks as he continues, “I don't know how to answer that without you getting angry with me.”

Oikawa is made of iron and Iwaizumi is a magnet, and he pulls him in close, drawn to him so naturally. “Stupid,” he mutters over his shoulder, “You're stupid if you think I'm going to get angry with you over this. Frustrated? Yeah.” He hugs him tighter, Oikawa's warmth seeping into him. “But never _angry_ , god, Oikawa.” Oikawa fits so perfectly against Iwaizumi and he's never going to let go. “Not when you're like this.”

Oikawa's hands have coiled around Iwaizumi and fiddle with the back of his shirt. “Hmm.”

Iwaizumi purses his lips. “Will you listen to me, for just a bit?”

“Of course.”

“But actually _heed_ what I say?”

His hands still, but he ends up nodding apprehensively.

“I think you're a really, _really_ great volleyball player,” Iwaizumi begins, “I admire how hard you've worked and continue to work so you improve. It's good to practice, especially if you want to make progress instead of staying at the same level forever, but-” He sighs. “But you don't practice for that. You practice because, for whatever reason, you belittle yourself. When you lock yourself up here, long after everyone's gone, and hit a ball, you don't think ' _I'm getting better_ ', you're thinking ' _Why am I not good enough?_ '. I can’t stand that.” He pulls away so he can meet his eyes, steadfast and true. “You are good enough. You can still improve, everyone can, but the reasons for it don't have to be such gloomy bullshit.”

Oikawa's eyes are still wet, but he hasn't shed a tear. He gives him a little smile. “I think I needed to hear that,” he admits, “Thank you, Iwa-chan.” And he's looking at him so warmly that Iwaizumi reluctantly lets go of him, not trusting himself to keep to normal friendship boundaries if he holds Oikawa for any longer.

“Right,” he says awkwardly, his arms feeling so empty, “But don't just say that. I want to see your attitude change, too. Promise me.”

“I promise,” Oikawa replies, leaning down to pick up his backpack. He slings it easily over his shoulder with a tired smile. “Let's go home now, Iwa-chan, I'm pretty tired. Ooh, wait, how about a sleepover at your place!”

_It's too late for that, he should say. None of your things are over at my house. Your mom is probably worried sick about you._ “Sure,” he says instead, a smile gracing his own lips. _But I am, too._


End file.
